Where Were You?
by 1357wombat
Summary: How long will Sam wait? And is Tom ready to commit to a relationship with her? When something terrible happens, they both realise things about each other that push them to their limits. Set in the time after Dylan leaves.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm not sure about this one, and I don't know whether it's sad or not, but I thought I'd upload it anyway. Please let me know what you think :)**

* * *

Sam leaned over the sink and pressed her clammy forehead to the mirror. It's icy bleakness was a stark contrast to her sweaty skin. What was happening to her? She wondered as she looked up, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and her chalky face. She clamped her lips together. The blood escaped, leaving them abandoned and white. She breathed deeply through her nose, not daring to unseal her mouth for fear that the vomit she kept swallowing back would make an appearance.

Sam checked the time. Again and again, but it made no difference. It was so late. Where was he? It was always like this, yet tonight, was... Somehow different. She had not felt this terrible before. Staggering slightly, she made her way to the bed. It was dark in the bedroom, but she didn't think she could make it to the light switch. She hated the dark. All she had was the faint lambency from the bathroom, and it was causing the shadows to flicker, sealing her terror. She shut her eyes tight. She needed him. Stupid. Cowardly. Pathetic. She had let herself think that he cared, that he would come for her. She should have known. Actually, she had realised, but she had ignored her brain. He never came home with her, he always stayed behind after work. Had he ever cared? He was probably with another girl now, getting drunk, laughing, taking her home. He'd done that to her once too. Well she didn't want him. She could manage without him.

But tonight she felt so sick.

Her need was greater than her malice, so she reached a pale, shaking hand across to the bedside table where her mobile lay. She used one finger to find his number on her phone; the other hand stayed wrapped around her stomach, holding everything in. She put the phone to her ear.

* * *

"Aren't you going to answer that?" the blonde asked Tom. He didn't even know her name. He let the phone ring once more, before rejecting the call. It was nearly midnight, he saw. Maybe he should be going. Crap. He had promised to go back to Sam's house tonight. Was that why she had rung him? Surely she hadn't waited this long for him. His mobile rang again. He silenced it immediately, but the insistent buzzing flared up straight away. He sighed, and turned to look at the girl sitting next to him. Did Sam deserve this? It wasn't that he didn't like her (maybe he even loved her, but he wasn't sure; he had never loved anyone before), but she had become so boring lately. She wouldn't go out after work, and all she ever wanted to do was go home. When he asked if she was alright, he was snapped at and told to mind his own business. He didn't know if he wanted to be with someone like that. In the drunken blur of his mind, she didn't quite seem worth it, not a patch on the girl in front of him.

"Listen, it's been fun. I'll call you," he said to her, knowing that he wouldn't. He left the pub and hailed a taxi.

* * *

Sam couldn't take this anymore. She tried to call Tom one last time before throwing her phone feebly to the other side of the bed. She sat up slowly, her vision obscured for a second even so, and lurched unsteadily towards the light switch. Before she had made it half way across the room that in her reeling mind seemed to stretch on forever, her legs swayed and folded, her body crumpling on the floor. She sobbed silently. What the hell was going on? Her stomach convulsed, the pain making her curl involuntarily into a ball. She felt something hot and wet between her legs, more than just sweat. Her pallid face was screwed up in agony as the tears fell. The phone was ringing, and she turned her head slowly towards the sound, but she couldn't get to it now.

* * *

Tom couldn't remember which flowerpot she kept her spare key under, so he tried several. A sense of urgency was beginning to force its way through his hazy mind. Why wasn't she answering the phone? At last he found the key. He pushed it hurriedly into the lock, and opened the door.

"Sam?" he yelled. It was dark in every room he entered. She hated the dark. Suddenly he realised that he did care. She must be upstairs. He tore up them as best he could on his drunken legs, turned on her bedroom light, and found Sam. She was lying hunched. That was how she slept, and had it not been for the scarlet pool around her legs, he might have believed she had fallen asleep on the floor. Her skin was sheer white. How much blood had she lost? He checked her pulse. It was faint, but there. "Sam? Sam, wake up, you need to stay awake." He stroked her shoulder gently. Her eyelids quivered, half opening.

"Go away. You're too late." He could hardly hear the words she was mouthing, but he could feel the bitterness in her voice, and it stung him.

"Hold on Sam, I'm going to call an ambulance," he said, dialling 999. He explained the situation when a man answered, and then hung up, returning anxiously to Sam. He couldn't do anything now but talk to her.  
"I am so sorry," he said, his voice trembling.

"I called... Six times. Where were you? You weren't... Here when I... Needed... You," she hissed, her words splintered from the tight knot of pain and ire in her throat.

"I'm sorry," he cried again. "I've been an idiot, and I don't have any excuses. Why didn't you tell me you felt ill?"

"Would you... Have been interested?" With great effort she twisted her head to look at him in the eyes. He saw a look in them that made him forget that she was lying on the floor, lost and frail. It was the look she had worn to her GMC hearing, and to divorce Dylan. She was strong. And she didn't want him.

"Of course I would have been, Sam."

"So I have to... Be ill for... You to notice me?" she hated how desperate she sounded. "Like I said. It's a little... Bit late."  
Despite the stubbornness in her eyes, she was fading. Tom heard a banging on the door downstairs. He ran to let the paramedics in, and then led them up the stairs to Sam. He was angry, shouting at them for taking so long, when he of all people should have had sympathy, blaming anyone he could for his own mistake. They worked as quickly as they could, but it was slow work, carrying the board on which Sam was strapped downstairs.

"Do you have any idea what happened here?" one paramedic asked Tom.

"No. No, I just found her like that, I don't know how long she had been there, maybe half an hour."

Just as they loaded Sam onto the ambulance she whispered hoarsely, "Don't... Want him with... Me."

The paramedics turned to look at Tom.  
"Okay, mate, maybe you'd better follow afterwards."  
Tom nodded silently. He wasn't going to distress her any more by arguing.  
Unexpectedly, he became aware that he did love her. But he had blown it.


	2. Chapter Two

**Finally, it's here! Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews for the last chapter. This chapter is a bit of a mess and I'm not very happy with it, but I wanted to get something up. So enjoy, sort of, please leave a review letting me know whether you liked it, whether you didn't, any improvements, suggestions, etc...**

"This is Sam Nicholls, twenty eight, found collapsed at her home. GCS was ten at the scene, now thirteen, BP one hundred over seventy, she's slightly tachycardic with a pulse of ninety, which seems to be settling, and her resps are twenty. She had a PV bleed, which appears to have stemmed itself, and no other injuries. We've given her a litre of saline and paracetamol," the paramedic announced, wheeling Sam into resus. As they lifted Sam onto the trolley, they added, "We've pushed six units of o-neg in, which seems to have done the trick."  
"Thanks guys," Zoe said as they left.  
"Hi Sam. You're here early, aren't you?" Zoe joked. "Can you keep everyone out of here, and can we get FBCs and an hCG test," she muttered to Charlie, who nodded, looking at Sam, who was struggling against the straps keeping her to the bed. "How are you feeling?"  
"Fine. Please, just let me go now," Sam pleaded. She stopped tugging against the restraints, her strength once again leaving her completely. She was still so weak. Her arms fell by her side, useless.  
"You're not fine. The paramedics said you were bleeding. Do you know what could have caused that?"  
"No."  
"Well you're not going anywhere 'til we find out. If I unstrap you now, do you promise not to bolt?"  
Sam rolled her eyes, but nodded. She didn't think she'd make it very far.  
"Have you had any pain?"  
"My stomach... Hurt. Just cramps though. I thought it was just my period,"  
Zoe raised her eyebrow. "Well, we've sent bloods off, and you're stable now, so we're going to move you to cubicles. Just try and think of anything that might give us a clue as to what's caused this," Zoe said as she left resus, just as Charlie entered to take a sample of Sam's blood.

"Zoe!" Tom called, catching sight of her as he shouldered through the doors of the ED ten minutes later. Despite there being no traffic around at this time of night, the pointless traffic lights had been conspiring against him as a taxi drove him to the hospital. "Have you been treating Sam?"  
"Er, yes, I have. Were you there? Do you know what happened?"  
"No. I just found her and called the ambulance. What's wrong with her? Can I see her?" he asked desperately.  
"You know I can't tell you that. You can't see her just yet, but we've stabilised her and we're going to move her to cubicles soon, you can see her then, but she's very tired right now," Zoe informed him. Tom thanked her and went to sit on a chair in reception. He put his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. He knew she would never forgive him for this, but he needed to apologise anyway. It might have taken him a while, but he realised now how much she had come to mean to him, even just over the last few months, weeks even. At least it sounded like she was going to be okay. He should have listened to earlier, when she'd said she was feeling rough. What kind of doctor was he, if he couldn't even tell when something was serious? What kind of boyfriend was he, if he neglected his girlfriend for another woman? His mind had been so mixed up with the alcohol, exhaustion, and guilt, that it was a complete mess, but he listed all the possible causes of Sam's condition in his head: infection, cervical polyps, menorrhagia, miscarriage? Miscarriage? Could it be? No. There were so many other explanations. Wouldn't she have told him if she was pregnant? Did she even know?

Tom looked up to see Zoe approaching him. He stood up automatically. "She's asleep," she said.  
"Can I see her anyway?" he said, without hesitation.  
"I don't think that's the best idea." His face broke. Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes.  
"You don't know what I've done. I need to see her. I need to say sorry, even if she can't hear me."  
"I don't care what you've done, she's a patient here now, and I don't think it's in her best interests, or yours for that matter, for you to see her. You need to go home and get some sleep - you've got work tomorrow," Zoe told him, as kindly as she could.  
"I will go home, but can't I just see her while I wait for a taxi?" he begged.  
Zoe sighed. She could see he wasn't going to give in. "Fine, five minutes," she said, leading him to Sam's cubicle. Once Tom had rung the taxi company, he pushed open the curtain to Sam's cubicle gently. She was lying in a ball on the bed, and he had a horrible vision of earlier that evening. She was still pallid, although some colour had returned to her skin.  
"Sam, I am so sorry," he whispered, tentatively stroking her arm. "I promise, I'm here for you now, whether or not you want me, and I'm not going to leave you again. Zoe's going to make me leave soon," he said, knowing that had she been awake, he would have been kicked out a long time ago. "But I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am, and how terrible I feel." His phone buzzed, letting him know that his taxi was waiting. "I'm going now, but I'll come and see you in the morning. I love you." He hesitated, thought better of kissing her, and turned his back, pulling the curtains back to their original position, and went outside to meet his taxi.

* * *

Sam jerked awake. She had felt the horrible, rippling cramps again, consuming her abdomen, but now she was awake, they were gone. The sleep hadn't really helped; it had been more like a living nightmare, and she was still so tired. She didn't have the energy to go and find Zoe or Charlie, and anyway, she wasn't going to get out of bed in case someone else saw her - it was bad enough with Zoe, Charlie and Tom knowing. Tom. He was the last person she wanted to see right now. But she would have given anything to see him. She was so confused. She wished she wasn't so pathetic. No wonder Tom hadn't come back to her house. But then he had. She turned it over in her shattered mind. Did he deserve her temper? Perhaps not, but did he deserve to be forgiven?

**All will be revealed next chapter. Do you think Sam should forgive Tom? Please review!** **Xx**


	3. Chapter Three

**Finally! Sorry about the wait, enjoy this :)**

Sam stumbled out of her bed in the cubicle, still feeling hazy, but better. She went to the curtain and opened it slightly. There was hardly anyone around; she could sneak into the staff room, get changed and get back to work. Just as she was pulling the curtain back around the bed and was just about to leave cubicles, Zoe caught her.  
"Sam! What are you doing?" Zoe called.  
"Going back to work," she said, pulling her ridiculous hospital gown self consciously.  
"No you're not, I haven't discharged you yet."  
"I'll discharge myself then."  
"How many years of your life have you spent telling patients _not _to do that? I was just about to discharge you anyway, but," she paused "We think we know what caused the bleed." Sam looked curious, but before she could ask, Zoe steered her back to the bed and pushed her gently down on it. "It seems as though it was a miscarriage, Sam," Zoe said softly. "The size of the bleed and-"  
Sam wasn't listening. "Miscarriage?" she whispered to herself. "But I'm not... I- I wasn't pregnant." Bile sat at the top of her throat, triggering her gag reflex, but she managed to keep it down. Her lips parted, a tiny 'o'. She collected herself quickly, at least on the surface, and looked up at Zoe. "Can I go now then?"  
"Not back to work, no, but you can go home, but you need someone with you."  
"No I don't, I'm fine."  
"You're not arguing with me on this, Sam, I've already asked Tom anyway."  
It was instant. In spite of herself, the blood left her face again, and she shivered. "No," she said, resolutely.  
"Yes. He's coming to get you in a minute."  
"Does he... does he know?" she asked, barely keeping the pain and fear from her voice.  
"No, of course not," Zoe assured her and with that, she hurried off, leaving Sam pale and dreading the coming moments.

It was probably for the best, Sam thought, losing the baby. She hadn't even known she was pregnant. Well maybe in the back of her mind something had made her think. A missed period, nausea in the mornings. She hadn't really taken much notice of it. As if she and Tom could ever work anyway. He had already proven that he didn't care, and she wasn't going to waste anymore time with him. She didn't really know how to feel at the moment: on the outside, as she changed into normal clothes, she was calm, indifferent, but underneath, her head was threatening to explode; she really didn't want Tom taking her home. She suspected he would insist on driving her there, but he didn't need to stay, no matter what orders Zoe had given him.

Just as Sam pulled on a hoodie, Tom appeared, making no sound. She jumped when she turned to find him, and he smiled tentatively and apologetically. She did not return it.  
"Feeling better?" he asked.  
She gritted her teeth and said nothing, already on her way out of the ED to where she knew his car would be parked. He hurried after her, shrugging on his jacket as he tried to catch her up. She was already at his car when he pulled out the keys, and she scrambled in when it was unlocked, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. He could almost feel her wall of anger as she sat so close to him, so he made no attempt to lift the awkward silence.

Tom was prepared for her, so when they reached the house he jumped out as quickly as she did, and slipped his foot in the door before she could slam it behind her.  
"Go away," she growled, the malice even stronger now. She shut the door hard on his foot a couple more times. She didn't care if it hurt him. "This is my house, Tom, and I don't need you here." She was saying the same words as last night, but with her voice no longer delicate and weak, he felt her hatred, and he knew she meant it.  
"I'm not leaving, Sam, Zoe asked me to look after you," he said firmly.  
"I don't need 'looking after'." She repeated his words snidely.  
"Yes, you do," he said. Sam brushed away hair that had fallen in her face in her frenzy, and registered the desperation in his eyes. When he saw her hesitate, he pushed the door, which gave way this time as Sam stood back. Once again, just for a second, she let herself think that he might care. And besides, he might have stood there talking all night, had she not let him.

Tom followed her to the living room. He perched uncomfortably on the edge of her sofa.  
"Do you want a drink?" she offered reluctantly. He shook his head. He swallowed and took a deep breath.  
"Sam, I _am_ sorry. I'd give anything to go back and be there for you. Time just got away from me, and I will never let this go, but I'm here now, and I want to help you."  
"Why?"  
"Because I love you," he said simply.  
"No, you don't," she hissed.  
"I do. I will do whatever it takes to show that I do. I'll help you through this illness, or whatever it is. I mean, you don't need to tell me, but I'd like to be there for you, because I really-"  
"It was a miscarriage!" screamed Sam. Her crashing voice created a silence that seemed to go on forever, her words echoing endlessly. She couldn't take it anymore. Eventually he dragged a noise up from his throat.  
"Miscarriage?" he breathed, only just audibly. Neither of them knew what to say.  
"Was it... Mine?" Tom choked.  
"Who else's would it be," she threw back.  
"Did you know? That you were pregnant, I mean."  
"No." And she was gone. Tears flared from her eyes. She sobbed. She turned away from Tom, her hands concealing her, but nothing could mask the heaving that shook her body. For Tom, this was as bad as finding her lying on the floor surrounded by blood. He reached for her and encased her in his arms. An impulse, but she didn't try to escape. She leaned against his body, and her unexpected force pushed them onto the sofa. Tom lay underneath her fragile body, holding her as she wept and cowered, but it didn't last long. Suddenly she stiffened, and recoiled from the sofa, fleeing the room before he knew how to stop her.  
"Sam!" he screamed desolately. Her footsteps on the stairs lapsed, but only because she had reached the top. He tried again, but nothing. He sighed. It was going to take longer to get through to her than he had realised.

**I'm a bit stuck now. I have the next chapter written, but after that, I have no ideas. If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know, and if you want to know what will haopen next chapter so you can see if it fits in with any of your ideas, PM me. Thanks for reading :) x**


	4. Chapter Four

**Thanks for all the reviews and suggestions :) hopefully you'll like this, I'm just so worried it might be too much. Enjoy, and any other suggestions would be greatly appreciated!**

A jarring cough woke him from Sam's sofa. He realised he was sweating, wearing only a t-shirt and boxers in the middle of winter. Something was wrong. A smoke alarm, unmistakable, blared suddenly. Tom coughed again. That smell. Something was burning. He pulled on his discarded jeans from beside the sofa. His first thought was Sam.

Tom tried to call her name, to warn her, but the surging smoke caught him and his words choked in his throat. He stumbled towards the staircase, and saw the first flames through streaming eyes. They seemed to be coming from the kitchen, blocking the front door, but he didn't stop. He hurled himself up the staircase. Luckily, he knew where her room was. The fire had not reached the upper level of Sam's house yet, but a thick haze of flickering smoke was dragging around his shoulders, obscuring his vision further. He had to feel his way to her room. Nothing could be heard from inside through the hissing and spitting of the ever growing blaze, and his own heart, every beat like a bullet. He shouldered the door open, forgetting everything he had been taught about checking for fire first. Nothing mattered but Sam. He saw her lying, peaceful amongst the commontion, under the duvet, the indents telling him that she was curled in the same way as she had been the previous night. Her face, too, gleamed with sweat, but the full heat of the flames had not reached her room. He wheezed her name again, and, without waiting for her to wake, hoisted her up into the cradle of his arms, grabbed a blanket from the edge of the bed, and carried her out of the room.

Her room had been relatively smoke-free, but out at the top of the stairs the smog entered her system and she awoke, a disorientated look taking over her face immediately.  
"Fire!" choked Tom frantically, still clutching her tightly. He had forgotten how fast fire spread. Like a torpedo it had whipped through her front hall, blackening everything to ash. Now it crept along the banister of the stairs, preparing to consume it. Tom turned his body so that he was facing away from the blaze, enclosing Sam behind his exposed back, squeezing her securely. He felt the heat radiate onto his back, almost certain he'd have burns there, but his blood turned solid in his veins when he heard Sam's strangled cry as the flames took hold of her ankle. It was only for a second but it was enough. Her bare skin blistered almost immediately, but they had to keep going. At the foot of the stairs, Tom looked around desperately. They couldn't escape through the front door, but there was a back door.  
"The key's in the kitchen," Sam spoke painfully for the first time, seeing him make for the door. He placed he swiftly on her good leg, wrapped his hand in a random tea towel strewn on a nearby table and punched through the window as hard as he could. It shattered, seeming to momentarily break the crackle of the fire. Tom pushed more glass out of the way until there was a big enough gap for them. He helped her through, and then followed straight after, only earning a few abrasions on his forearms. He surrounded Sam with the blanket and one of his arms to support her, ignoring the sting of the cuts, and they limped around to the front of the house. As they hurried, they heard the ambulance and fire engine sirens; the neighbours must have called them, Sam thought.

Sure enough, a small group of people were gathered on the pavement, staring up at the little house. From the outside, Sam could see that flames, like a constricting cage, had almost entirely depleted the far left side of her house. The ambulance arrived then, followed by a fire engine. They reeled into action. The paramedics found Sam and Tom, and a hose was fired at the house, until the foam had extinguished even the last smouldering embers. They were yelling things at her, at Tom, but although she felt herself nod and shake her head, she didn't really register what they were saying. Once again, she had no idea what to think. The nerves to her brain seemed to have gone into shutdown; everything was slow. She looked at Tom's ash and salt-smeared face and wondered what he had even been doing there. Then with a burst of realisation, she was brought back to the present. It was the middle of the night, it was freezing cold, and her house had just been on fire. Tom had rescued her. Tom, who had only been there because he wanted to protect her in the first place, had once more saved her. She sat down abruptly, not bothering to check if there _was_ anything to sit on, but was caught by an anxious looking Tom.  
"Are you alright?" he asked. She nodded indistinctly, but further conversation was cut off as she was taken in the comforting hands of the paramedics while he was led to the ambulance. As they were driven back to the hospital, Sam stopped feeling the pain from her seared ankle, and then it was a haze.

* * *

When Sam woke up in the morning, she realised she was in cubicles again. She sighed. Was this going to become a regular thing? She brought her hands to her face, noticing the layer of smoke and grime still in their grooves and under her nails. They nurses must have given her a quick clean, as she didn't feel completely disgusting, but she was desperate for a shower. She turned that thought away; she didn't exactly have a home to shower in anymore. There was going to be so much to deal with no, she realised, but it would have to wait. She looked at her bandaged foot - it seemed to be her only injury from the fire, although she was still sore from the, well, the miscarriage. She hadn't even had a chance to think about that; it had been shoved to the back of her mind, but try as she might, she couldn't seem to keep it there. She certainly didn't want to talk to Tom about it. In spite of her resentment, she wondered how he was doing. He had probably saved her life, after all. But isn't that what anyone would have done? No, he could have just got the hell out of there, but he hadn't. She wished she could say it was going to take more than this for him to prove himself to her, but really, he couldn't do much more than that. A bulb of hope sprang in her stomach. They needed a talk, she just wasn't very good at talking.

**What will Sam do now? Let me know what you think :)**


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